


[SCULLY] I don't believe this. I don't fucking believe this.

by kiittenteeth



Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: 5+1 Things, Beta Read, Comedy, Slice of Life, Supernatural Elements, not exactly a ship fic but will focus on gordon + benrey friendship!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24915871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiittenteeth/pseuds/kiittenteeth
Summary: "Benrey's head is tipped backwards slightly, and his mouth is opened wide enough to be a goal post for the chicken nuggets Joshua is currently trying to toss (he’s fine wasting the chicken nuggets - but he’d scream his tiny little head off if Benrey even so much as blinked at his french fries). Two of them bounce off of Benrey’s open maw and onto the carpet below, but one of them successfully makes it in, and the duo celebrate their victory by throwing their arms into the air and hollering like it’s the final winning score at their most important basketball game.Gordon, for some reason, recalls something his mother would say to him, in a clarity so perfect he can practically hear the inflection of her voice:Don’t feed the stray cats, sweetie, they’ll just keep coming back to our house for more and more.”Or, five times Gordon realizes he’s somehow wound up with the world’s weirdest stray cat, and one time the Science Team realizes the exact same thing.
Relationships: Benrey & Gordon Freeman
Comments: 18
Kudos: 152





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> kiittenteeth (Yesterday at 10:31 AM):  
> everyone thinks theyre so funny making benrey catboy jokes and giving him Silly Pupils and making him purr. well im about to act hilarious (writes a fic of benrey but hes doing every annoying thing my cats do)

One hour after he leaves the parking lot of Chuck E. Cheese, Gordon is back in his two-bedroom apartment.

Three hours after he leaves the parking lot of Chuck E. Cheese, Gordon _finally_ manages to peel that orange prison of a suit off of his fucking body, with the help of so many tools stashed in his apartment for repairs (hey, got to be prepared when you’ve got a six year old son, right?). Gordon takes the aluminum bat he has stashed in his closet for possible intruder scenarios and bashes in the HEV suit until it’s rubble. That takes a hot minute.

Five hours after he leaves the parking lot of Chuck E. Cheese, Gordon gets to shower again for the first time in - oh, even he’s lost track of how long it took him to crawl through Black Mesa’s facility and kill an entire deity in a different (world? dimension?) place. The constant contradictions between his associates during their (can he call that an adventure?) mission for survival certainly doesn’t help him figure out how long he’s been gone for.

Six hours after he leaves the parking lot of Chuck E. Cheese, Gordon is calling his ex-wife, the mother of his son, and realizes when she bursts into tears on the other end of the line instead of infuriated yelling that he’s been gone far too long. She wakes Joshua up (he complains at first - it’s six in the morning on a Saturday), but Gordon is so overwhelmed with relief at the sound of his son’s sleepy voice that he can’t stop himself from crying either.

Twenty-four hours after he leaves the parking lot of Chuck E. Cheese, Gordon finds a hefty sum of money in his bank account, and he’s not sure whether it’s Mr. Coolatta’s doing or hush money from the government, but he hopes to the heavens above that Black Mesa has been burnt to the ground and is nothing more than a pile of ashes to linger in his bad dreams.

Three days after he leaves the parking lot of Chuck E. Cheese, Gordon is shocked to find out Coomer and Bubby have moved into the apartment on the third floor directly below Gordon’s own apartment on the fourth floor (he has always felt more comfortable having a higher apartment - less chance of someone breaking in through the glass sliding door on the balcony, he thinks). He’s a little alarmed that Coomer and Bubby knew his address without asking him about it, but that’s the least alarming thing Coomer _or_ Bubby have ever done - he has a prosthetic hand as proof of that statement. 

Two weeks after he leaves the parking lot of Chuck E. Cheese, Gordon and his ex finally come to an agreement to let Joshua come and visit again, now that Gordon has (at least, in his opinion) had time to settle and readjust back to his previous life before the incident. He spends the whole day cleaning his apartment so that it’s absolutely spotless for Joshua. He decides to call it in early for the night so that he’s got plenty of energy for tomorrow - he’s always believed that everyone needs as much energy as they possibly can muster if they plan to go toe-to-toe with a six year old child. He takes a shower in the master bedroom’s bathroom at roughly eight in the evening, and when he steps out of the doorway that connects the bedroom to the bathroom, his body goes absolutely rigid as he spots the suspiciously human-sized lump squirming around underneath his covers. 

Gordon had thought after all he went through with Black Mesa and the hell he endured there that perhaps now he would have, hypothetically, been much more prepared for an intruder. Perhaps even cool, some might say, like an action hero in some cheesy 80’s action movie. Instead, all that Gordon manages to get out is a very indignant, “ _Excuse me?_ ”

Even to his own ears, he sounds like a father whose moody teenage child just boldly told him to fuck off, and not like a man who just walked into his room to see a possible burglar or murderer huddled in his own bed. The sheets rustle once more as whoever is under there pokes their head out from under the covers and - 

Well. Two weeks and twenty hours after he’s long since left the parking lot of Chuck E. Cheese, Gordon’s worst nightmare comes true.

Benrey stares back at him from Gordon’s own bed, his unnaturally yellow eyes gleaming from beneath the shadow of his helmet cap - is he wearing that stupid damn helmet still? Benrey lowers his head back down to the pillows aligning Gordon’s bed, rumbling low and steady, “Yo.”

A thousand questions rush through Gordon’s head: How are you alive? How did you get into my house? Why are you back? Why are you back here bothering _me_ specifically and not someone else? How are you alive? Shouldn’t you be dead? How are you alive how are you alive how are you alive h- 

“ _What_ are you doing in my _bed_?” Gordon picked probably the least concerning question to ask. Benrey stares back at him lazily, blinks slowly, then shrugs, as if the answer’s obvious, "Takin’ a nap. Duh. What’s it look like?”

“It looks like you shouldn’t be in my _fucking_ house,” Gordon curses, stalking over towards Benrey’s figure in his bed. Please be a nightmare. Please be a nightmare. Gordon rips off the covers while Benrey whines like an upset animal, and when Gordon reaches out and grabs Benrey by the security vest he’s _still_ wearing for some reason, Gordon realizes with such astounding disappointment that this is not, in fact, a nightmare. Leave it to Benrey to be the first person - no, not person, _thing_ \- to make Gordon _want_ to experience a nightmare. 

He hauls Benrey up into the air with surprising ease, and in that moment, Gordon takes a moment to recognize how startlingly calm he’s handling this situation. Well, maybe not exactly calm, it’d be a lie to say Gordon isn’t absolutely _seething_ at the moment, but considering Benrey not only conspired to rat Gordon out to the military (which, again, led to the prosthetic hand he now has) but _also_ tried to _kill him_ , Gordon dragging Benrey out of his bed and through the apartment towards the front door is the least of what Gordon could have done. He keeps Benrey tucked against his side by looping his right arm around Benrey’s midriff throughout the walk, as if he’s holding a particularly troublesome cat, and, with his free hand, tears open the front door and practically flings Benrey onto the concrete hallway outside. Benrey lands like a ragdoll with a dull ‘thump!’ against the ground, rolling with the force Gordon tossed him outside with for a few inches before he finally stills. He stares up at Gordon with those inhumanly yellow eyes.

Gordon takes this moment now to recognize the sound of rain pattering against the walls of the apartment complex and realizes that a rainy week has finally descended upon his town. He slams the door shut without another thought or even word towards Benrey. 

All three of the locks click noisily, including the chain on top, so that even if Benrey did somehow manage to get into his house by unlocking the bottom two locks, that third chain will stop him, even though Gordon never leaves the chain unlocked unless he’s leaving the house for something. As soon as he turns back around to face the dark vastness that is his living room at night, he’s greeted with the sight of Benrey standing only a foot or so in front of him.

The door is unlocked, opened up, and slammed shut all in a matter of seconds before Benrey can even get in one of his stupid little quips, and once again, he is sprawled out against the concrete of the apartment complex hallway. This time, however, when Gordon slams the door shut, he uses his back to force it closed as fast as possible, facing his living room the entire time. Benrey can’t get in if he’s watching the area, Gordon rationalizes, even though there’s no plausibility to that hypothesis. 

“Oh, c’mon, dude, don’t be like this,” Benrey complains from the other side of the door, and Gordon can hear shuffling as Benrey presses himself against the door. “C’mon, Gordo, seriously, let me in.”

“Gor - did you just call me fat?” 

“Whuh?”

“ _Gordo_ ,” Gordon says through gritted teeth, “that means ‘fat’ in Spanish.” 

“Huh?” 

“ _Nevermind_ ,” Gordon finally realizes how stupid it is that he’s engaging in banter with Benrey still. That thing tried to kill him not even a month ago. “Get lost, Benrey.”

“C'mon, dude, friends are supposed to let friends into each other’s boring apartments.”

“We’re not friends!” Gordon snaps, and reaches out to clamp his hand against the doorknob as Benrey begins to jiggle it from the other side.

“It’s raining, dude, c’mon.”

“Stop saying c’mon! I’m not letting you into my fucking _house_.”

There’s a moment of pure, beautiful, blissful, _ecstatic_ silence and Gordon thinks for one mindblowing second that Benrey has finally fucked off for good.

“It’s not your house though.” Son of a _bitch_. 

“What are you talking about?” Part of Gordon expects Benrey to just answer back with his usual “huh” and immediately ignore Gordon’s question, so he’s frankly a little bit surprised when Benrey shoots back, “It’s your apartment.” 

Gordon considers opening the door for a moment, just a moment, so he can wring Benrey’s neck. He decides against it immediately, though. 

“Go _away_ , I’m not letting you in.” He doesn’t have the time for this.

All the times that Benrey acted like a little first grader in Black Mesa by mocking him with absolute gibberish noises suddenly come rushing back to Gordon as he hears Benrey fling himself against the other side of the door and absolutely _wails,_ “ _Please!_ ” 

Gordon nearly flinches as Benrey’s onslaught carries on, “ _Please! Open door please! Please! Please! Please please please please please please pl -!_ ”

“ _Alright!_ Holy shit, _alright_ , I’ll let you in, just fucking stop!” Gordon snaps, realizing with horror that he’s raising his voice again - his neighbors must be pissed as hell right now. The door swings open and Benrey immediately shuts up, scrambling in as soon as he can fit through the opening; Gordon makes sure to close the door a little quieter this time, both to save the door’s hinges and also to save his probably fragile reputation with his neighbors, and turns on heel to call after Benrey.

“You can stay for _one_ night, but you better be gone tomorrow first thing, and _don’t_ step foot in my bedroom again. Or, you know what, don’t even talk to me, either. You sleep on the couch for tonight and that’s _it_. You’re gone by morning.” He wouldn’t be doing this if Benrey wasn’t such a nuisance. 

If Benrey has even registered what Gordon said, he gives no indication to it. Instead, he rounds the corner of the wall that connects the kitchen to the living room and rumbles, “What kinda gamer fuel you got in this pad?”

❋ ❀ ❁ ❋ ❀ ❁

Surprisingly, by the morning, Benrey follows Gordon’s instructions and is gone. Gordon isn’t sure _where_ he’s gone to, nor does he even know _when_ Benrey left, but a thorough check of every empty space in his apartment (even underneath the tiny, cramped bathroom sink) tells Gordon that Benrey is, indeed, gone as asked. So, he follows through with the plan and, after a heartfelt reunion, Gordon has in fact picked up Joshua and is spending some long-missed quality time with Joshua. He hugs Joshua for a good minute longer than usual when he first sees him.

At first, the day goes by pretty smoothly - and fun, in fact. Gordon spends a good chunk of the day playing games with Joshua, occasionally taking breaks to let Joshua briefly recharge for a couple minutes while some cartoons blare on the living room television, and then back to playing. At about noon, they have to move indoors when the dark gray clouds rolling over the distance rumble a little too threateningly, but their games continue until Joshua complains that he’s hungry and Gordon, ever the doting father who is has _already_ been running on empty for a good hour at least, hurries to the kitchen to make up an actual lunchtime meal for himself and Joshua. 

As he’s re-frying up some already baked potatoes, cut up into mouth-sized chunks for Joshua, Gordon takes a second to realize just how wonderfully everything returned to normal. The next second is spent realizing how stupid it was to think like that because of _course_ he’d just jinx himself, and the third second is spent with his blood running cold at the sound of Joshua’s frantic shriek cutting through and above the noise of sizzling potato chunks.

Gordon thought, for these past two weeks at least, that he learned what adrenaline really felt like while he fought for his life in Black Mesa, covered in blood and grime and gore. Now, as he’s hurtling past the opening in the wall from the kitchen and into the living room, he realizes _this_ is what true adrenaline feels like. 

He doesn’t even take the time to register who is standing in the middle of his apartment living room; all he sees is a figure that he _knows_ doesn’t belong there, and then it’s target locked for Gordon, and he’s hitting that figure with all the force of his body weight in a hurling tackle. They tumble to the ground in a heap with a loud bang against the ground - Gordon _certainly_ doesn’t take the time to realize that they landed with such a noise that Coomer and Bubby both probably heard _and_ felt it from their apartment just below - and then Gordon is sitting up, his prosthetic hand curled back into a fist and his left hand balled up in the stranger’s shirt collar. It’s all so painstakingly familiar. Familiar. Like he’s grabbed this exact shirt material before.

“ _B_ _enrey?_ ” He finally sputters out as it finally clicks who he’s just thrown his body weight against. Benrey, the criminal in question, remains semi-sprawled out beneath Gordon’s weight, though he’s brought his arms up to his sides and holding out his hands, palms facing up, in the classic ‘wait, don’t hit!’ signal. His expression, however, is anything but frantic - as placid as ever.

“Yuh. That’s me.”

“What the _fuck_ your problem?” Gordon spits out, his voice bordering on a roar, and the adrenaline coursing hot through his bloodstream has temporarily disabled his child-friendly language barrier. Benrey blinks up at him, “Yo, I think you need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” Gordon echoes, infuriated, and the grip on Benrey’s shirt collar tightens as his other hand pulls back, just slightly, as if he’s gearing up to deck Benrey square in the jaw. He is.

“You’re scarin’ the kiddo.” 

Gordon wants to punch him, so, _so_ badly, but the realization that Joshua is watching this all unfold while he’s sitting there on the couch hits Gordon like a truck on the freeway. He immediately lets go of Benrey, whose stupid metallic helmet smacks against the carpet of Gordon’s basement with a clunk, and clambers away from Benrey to scoop his son up. Joshua is currently curled up, pressed as far as he can in the corner of the couch with his almond brown eyes as wide as they possibly can go. 

“Hey, hey, Joshie, it’s alright,” Gordon soothes, his voice dropping to such a softened octave that, had he turned around to get one more look at Benrey, he would have seen Benrey’s gleaming yellow eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. He outstretches his arms as he speaks, and Joshua scrambles into his father’s embrace immediately, slinging his small arms around Gordon’s neck.

“Who _is_ him?” Joshua mumbles against Gordon’s neck.

“He,” Gordon corrects lightly, and, as nonchalantly as he possibly can, adds, “that’s Benrey. He’s my - uh - he’s my work friend. Sometimes he likes to play pranks on us. I totally forgot I gave him my spare key.”

It’s a lie, yes, but it’s a lie that calms Joshua down so that he doesn’t think he’s in danger, which he isn’t, because if Gordon can kill Benrey once to save his own life, he can and _would_ absolutely _tear Benrey apart_ if he so much as made a wrong step towards his son. From what he can see of Joshua’s face, Gordon can tell Joshua is staring Benrey down owlishly, as if studying him.

A sniff. “Bro, is somethin’ burnin’?”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Gordon curses, and then his child-friendly language barrier kicks in a second too late when Joshua gasps in shock. Gordon quickly tacks on, “Sorry, I know, I said the word. Don’t repeat it.”

Joshua giggles against Gordon as Gordon hurries the pair into the kitchen to go remove his (a _little_ bit burnt) potatoes from the burner and flick off the heat; once he’s sure the potatoes won’t just burn further into little bits of tar-tasting rock, he sets Joshua down in a chair at the table and gets to working on making a little bowl of potatoes for him. He can hear shuffling and he _knows_ that Benrey is now standing in the entrance way, lingering by the wall like a little creep. He shoots a glance over his shoulder and, sure enough, Benrey is hovering in the entrance way, just staring down into the kitchen. It kind of reminds Gordon of his old, fat little cat, Chowder, and how she’d sit in the doorways (typically _right_ in the middle of the doorway) and stare everyone down while they went about their business. She’s unfortunately not around anymore, and although it still pains Gordon to think about the loss of Chowder (he’s certainly felt her absence for the three years she’s been gone), Chowder was as happy as the fat little clam she was, and she died peacefully at the ripe age of sixteen years old. Sixteen years spent causing both mayhem and tranquility in Gordon’s life, but sixteen years he would not replace for a second.

Eventually, Gordon sets down a small plastic bowl of ( _slightly_ burnt) potatoes, some shredded cheese sprinkled over top, and Joshua hungrily digs in. Gordon gives his son a soft pat to the top of his head before he turns on his heel and exits the kitchen, snagging Benrey by the collar of his work shirt and dragging him backwards.

“What the fuck were you _thinking_ ?” Gordon practically hisses through his clenched jaw once they’re both out of earshot of Joshua, but close enough that _Gordon_ can keep an ear out in case Joshua calls out to him. Benrey doesn’t answer of course, simply stares back at Gordon blankly as if he forgot where he was for a second.

“Benrey, I’m _serious_. If you ever pull this shit again when my son’s here -,”

“I didn’t know the kid was here.”

Gordon hesitates, searching for any sign of deceit - or, perhaps, even honesty - on Benrey’s face, but all he can see is the blank, dead-fish stare as usual. He’s an anomaly.

“Well, still, that doesn’t excuse -,” 

“Can I meet him?” Benrey interrupts _again_ , and catches Gordon off guard, _again_. Gordon struggles to find his footing in the conversation again, “Wha- no? No, you can’t, I’m -,”

Benrey practically swats Gordon out of the way and barrels on forward, marching straight into the kitchen despite Gordon’s initial disbelief. Why did he ask if he wasn’t going to even _listen_ to what Gordon said? Ideally, the first one of his - uh - “work” friends to meet Joshua would’ve been Tommy, or, hell, even _Coomer_ (Bubby would, absolutely, be a firm third to meet Joshua, however), and Benrey wasn’t even in the equation to meet Joshua. Not just because Gordon didn’t want Benrey to meet him, but because _he was supposed to be dead_. 

“Heyyyy, lil’ homie,” Benrey drawls out as he slides into the kitchen, followed shortly by Gordon, watching him like a threatened animal. Joshua looks up at Benrey with a firm frown plastered across his round face, “My name is _Joshua_.”

“Mini Gordon.” 

Joshua pounds his small hand, balled up into a little fist, against the wooden surface of the table, “ _Joshua_! My name is Joshua Freeman!”

“He doesn’t like it when people call him something that’s not his name. Y’kno, except for ‘Joshie’,” says Gordon, and then he immediately mentally slaps himself for giving Benrey tips on how to handle his child. 

“That’s chill,” Benrey says, taking a seat across from Joshua at the table, leaning over the wood with his elbows folded neatly across. “You got some baby potatoes there?”

Joshua doesn’t say anything at first, simply stares at Benrey silently while gripping the fork in his hands. This does not deter Benrey in the slightest as he tries again, “You like ‘em?”

“Yes,” Joshua says after a moment, taking another bite of his potatoes. Benrey quirks his head to the side, “Your daddy kinda bungled ‘em all up, though, huh?”

Joshua shrugs while Gordon scowls at Benrey, leaving his perch of leaning against the wall to step towards Benrey. 

“You got credentials for that weapon of mass destruction?” Benrey asks, lifting one hand up to laxly point at the fork in Joshua’s hand. Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake, if Benrey starts asking Joshua about his passport Gordon will fill up the bathtub with as much water as it can fit and drown Benrey himself.

Joshua’s expression mirrors Gordon’s inner thoughts; his little eyebrows furrow in confusion, obviously not understanding a word of what Benrey just said, so Gordon leans over and slaps his hand against the back of Benrey’s helmet and snaps, “You idiot, he’s _six_ , he doesn’t know words that big.” Benrey just scowls back in response, but Joshua erupts into a short fit of giggles.

For the first time in the entirety of today, Benrey’s mouth quirks into a rather small smile, but a smile nonetheless. Gordon readies himself for something he’s not yet sure what to expect.

“You got a permit for that? A license for that weaponry?” Benrey asks again, and this time he’s met with another fit of bashful giggles from Joshua, who doesn’t exactly say anything, but his obvious amusement is enough for Benrey to continue on. “Little killer, huh? Little - uh - little fightin’ machine, just like your papa, huh? Get that from your daddy?”

Joshua shrugs in response this time, but Gordon can tell he is, to Gordon’s genuine surprise, having a good time by the way his eyes are squinted up with delight. Benrey’s eyes squint back, narrowed down to yellow slits against the much-too-dark shadow across his face supposedly cast by the brim of his helmet, “Hey, Joshie, you wanna see somethin’ funny?” Gordon freezes solid.

“Uh-uh!” Joshua answers, eyes widening as he watches Benrey expectantly. Benrey leans back in his chair, tilting his chin up and letting out a few notes of a tone Gordon had hoped he wouldn’t have to hear again in his lifetime, certainly not in his kitchen. The color of the orbs now suspended in the air above Gordon’s kitchen table is that deep blue Gordon associated with Benrey’s “calm down” methods. 

“What’s that?” Joshua squeals with glee, reaching out to one of the orbs out of his reach. Benrey grins as he casually swipes one of the orbs from the air, “Call that the Black Mesa Sweet Voice. Watch this.”

With that, Benrey rears his arm backwards and twists in his seat so fast that Gordon physically flinches, and then Benrey hurls the blue orb directly into Gordon’s face.

Now, Gordon’s felt the Sweet Voice orbs before, never willingly, of course, but Benrey could aim them with such precision they’d usually bounce lightly off his face or, in a couple unfortunate cases, directly into his mouth and swallowed up like a meal. Back then, the closest thing Gordon could describe the texture to was Jell-O, or perhaps even orbeez. To say Gordon is surprised when the orb wacks into his forehead and ricochets off like a baseball with the sensation of being hit by a, well, _baseball_ would be an understatement. 

Joshua absolutely _bursts_ with shrill laughter as Gordon brings his hands up to press against the now sore mark blossoming on his forehead; Joshua’s own hands fly up to his mouth as he tries to stifle his laughter, somehow gleaning with his little kid mind that maybe he shouldn’t be laughing _that_ hard at his father getting a smack to the head by a suddenly-hard ball, but that certainly doesn’t stop him from laughing _entirely_. Gordon shoots Benrey a fuming glare through the gap between his wrists, while Benrey meets Gordon’s glare with his own smug stare, head tipped to the side and a wry smirk curling on his countenance.

“Clumsy boy.”

Gordon rubs at the tender spot on his forehead with the pads of his fingertips for a few more seconds, before finally dropping his hands and pointing to the bowl in front of Joshua, “Alright, Joshie, you gotta finish that bowl of potatoes. Say bye-bye to Benrey, he’s gotta leave now.”

“Aw, does he _have_ to?” Joshua whines, pouting as he adds on, “I wish he stayed.” 

“I know,” Gordon attempts to curb his son’s disappointment, ruffling Joshua’s hair as he walks by his chair, “but Benrey’s got some important stuff to do.”

“Your daddy’s always boring, huh?” Benrey says as he gets to his feet from the chair, walking around the table and lifting his hand, curled into a relaxed fist, so that it hovers expectantly in the air just in front of Joshua.

“Sometimes he’s fun!” Joshua laughs, giddy, as he bumps his own tiny little fist against Benrey’s hand. Benrey grins down at him, “Niiice.”

With that, Benrey, somehow obedient for once, follows Gordon to the front door, and even steps out on his own accord when Gordon unlocks and opens the door expectantly.

“It's gonna rain soon,” Benrey comments, his slit pupils wandering to the side.

“Mm.”

“Where should I - ?”

“Coomer and Bubby live downstairs,” Gordon interrupts, and immediately closes the door. 

❋ ❀ ❁ ❋ ❀ ❁

The rest of the day goes by without a hitch, Benrey incident aside. Before Gordon even realizes it, it’s already six in the evening, and Joshua’s bedtime will be rounding the corner in only two more hours.

“Alright, Joshie,” Gordon says to grab his son’s attention as he himself gets up from the crouch and stretches, wincing at the way his back cracks with the slight bend. Had he really gotten that stiff from watching an hour and a half long movie? “What do you want for dinner?”

“Fries!” Joshua demands from the couch, and Gordon somehow knows exactly what Joshua is asking for despite the vague description. He’s already walking to Joshua’s room to get a pair of socks for the little fella.

“McDonald’s? You want McDonald’s for dinner?” Gordon asks as Joshua scampers after him down the hall. Joshua nods fervently behind him, “Mhm!”

“Well, go grab the umbrella from the machine closet, and we’ll go get some.”

Joshua practically howls with delight as he barrels back down the hallway and flings open the sliding wooden doors that hide the washing machine and drier. Normally, Gordon would have told Joshua no and to pick something they already had in the house, that they’d get their weekly fast food dinner on Saturday, like usual, but after not seeing his son for over two weeks, Gordon thinks a little McDonald’s treat the first night is a fair bend to the rule. They get all geared up and ready to go pretty fast, and within thirty minutes, Gordon’s driven to and back from McDonald’s and is rushing his son back up into their apartment as quickly as he can to avoid the downpour that’s happening outside. Living smack dab in the middle of the desert meant that there’d only be a rainy week once every four months, but when it does rain, it _pours_. 

Gordon sets two plates with the bag of greasy fast food on the coffee table in front of the couch, then sets up the television to play a movie he knows Joshua adores; once he’s gotten all of their food out and on their respective plates, Gordon finally gets to sit down with his son tucked by his side, watching bright colors flash on the television screen and chowing down on fries. They don’t even get halfway through their movie before Joshua pipes up again, “Him’s back!”

“He, Joshie, _he’s_ back,” Gordon corrects in his gentle tone, before the implications of Joshua’s statement fully hit him over the back of his head like a stick. “Wait, who - ?”

He snaps his head around to follow Joshua’s line of eyesight, already knowing in the pit of his stomach who “him” was referring to, and, low and behold, there’s Benrey, standing on the balcony-porch connected to his living room. His mouth is pulled into an almost cartoonish frown, his pupils blown-out wide and shimmering, as he stands against the locked sliding glass door of Gordon’s balcony-porch with his palms and helmet pressed to the glass. His uniform is absolutely soaked through (he’s seriously _still_ wearing that?), and water pools and drips off his helmet as if he were standing in the middle of a running shower. The way he’s standing there, sulking, reminds Gordon of how wet stray cats standing in the rain look like in the movies. He looks almost pitiful. Almost.

Well, he looks pitiful enough for _Joshua_ , at least, who pipes up with, “Let him in, daddy!”

“Wh- Joshie, no, he needs to go home,” Gordon attempts to steer Joshua from that line of thought, but Joshua’s already dead-set on it, considering how the little guy hops to his feet and immediately books it towards the handle of the sliding glass door. Unfortunately for Joshua, Gordon’s reflexes are just too fast, and he scoops up Joshua in his sturdy arms before Joshua can even make it to the sliding glass door.

“Daddy, let him in! He’ll die!” Joshua wails, slapping at Gordon’s arms. Gordon has to stifle a laugh at his son’s dramatics, quirking a brow as he asks, “Die? How would he die?”

“He’ll get sick out there! Get sick and _die_ !” Joshua thrashes again, “Daddy, him will _die_!”

Gordon doesn’t correct Joshua that time - part of him thinks Joshua just picks and chooses when to incorrectly use “him” just to mess with Gordon. Instead, he just holds Joshua tight against his body as the kid in question carries on, crying out about how Benrey _will_ absolutely get sick and die, one hundred percent guaranteed.

“Joshie, Benrey-,” -how does he even begin to try and explain this-, “-Benrey _can’t_ die.” Gordon has tried to kill him multiple times, now, and nothing stuck.

“Yes, he will!” Joshua remains steadfast on his idea, “Benny will get sick and _die_ out there!” 

The sigh that’s pulled from Gordon is long and heavy, absolutely worn out and far too tired to even try to win this argument against Joshua. Instead, he concedes with an “alright, fine”, sets Joshua down, and heads straight to the sliding glass door, opening it up despite every fiber of his very being screaming not to. Benrey stands there in a forming puddle on the balcony.

“What? Do I have to invite you in like a vampire? That’s never stopped you before,” Gordon grunts, brows furrowed, and Benrey, taking that as his invitation in, ducks below Gordon’s extended arm and bounds into the living room, tracking sodden boot marks across the carpet floor. 

He shuts the door with a sigh and rests his forehead against the pane of glass for an amount of time Gordon doesn’t even bother to keep track of. When he finally turns around, Benrey has made himself right at home and sits on the other side of the coffee table, just across from Joshua. His head is tipped backwards slightly, and his mouth is opened wide enough to be a goal post for the chicken nuggets Joshua is currently trying to toss (he’s fine wasting the chicken nuggets - but he’d scream his tiny little head off if Benrey even so much as blinked at his french fries). Two of them bounce off of Benrey’s open maw and onto the carpet below, but one of them successfully makes it in, and the duo celebrate their victory by throwing their arms into the air and hollering like it’s the final winning score at their most important basketball game.

Gordon, for some reason, recalls something his mother would say to him, in a clarity so perfect he can practically hear the inflection of her voice: _Don’t feed the stray cats, sweetie, they’ll just keep coming back to our house for more and more._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of "like pulling teeth", the new phrase should be "like trimming a cat's claws".

Okay, so maybe Gordon’s mother was right all those years ago. Benrey comes and goes as he pleases in the days, even weeks, following the initial invitation (if one could even _call_ it an invitation); during the times Gordon has Joshua over at his apartment, Benrey raps on the outer doors and windows like a cat begging to be let into the bathroom until Gordon, begrudgingly, opens the door. He’s tried more than once to just ignore Benrey’s scratching, but if he doesn’t cave to _that_ noise, he always ends up caving to his son’s desperate pleas to let “Benny” back in. Gordon doesn’t even get the opportunity to test his will against Benrey’s pleading pawing at his front door (or the windows, or the sliding glass balcony door), because whenever Joshua’s not around to beg Gordon to let Benrey in, Benrey just pops himself right into whatever room Gordon’s currently in. Gordon’s pretty sure Benrey makes an _effort_ to do it as quietly as he can _behind_ Gordon just so he can scare the shit out of this poor, single father who survived the alien equivalent of a nuclear meltdown. Gordon’s going to have a heart attack before he’s even thirty.

May has finally booted itself out the door by now, and now it’s the beginning of June, and the already-smothering heat from May kicks it up a notch as June settles itself comfortably onto New Mexico. The electric fan next to Gordon’s bed offers a brief oasis from the heat during the late hours of the night, considering that to save on his electric bill, he’s got to avoid running the air conditioning unit all hours of the night, as much as he’d like to. The screen of Gordon’s phone shines a white glow across his face one moment, and then the next moment it shines on Benrey’s as well.

“Yo, whassup, little baby. Little - uh - little baby man.”

Gordon hates to admit how badly Benrey startles him _every_ single time he does this. He _wishes_ he could say that the constant popping in and out when Joshua wasn’t around is something that Gordon has indeed gotten used to, but that’d be a bold faced lie, and while Gordon was many things, he did not take himself to be a liar. 

He curses loudly, jerking his whole body away from spot of his bed he was previously occupying, and rolls dangerously close to the edge of it, where he teeter-totters for a few heart-pounding seconds; his phone is now clutched to his chest, screen hidden by the fabric of his gray shirt (it does, in fact, have some stupid physics related pun on it), and he struggles to sputter a coherent sentence of words to Benrey. 

Instead, all that he manages is, “Wh- I’m - huh? ‘Baby man’? I’m only younger than you by like - well.” Gordon cuts himself off abruptly, the realization that he doesn’t _actually_ know how old Benrey is finally dawning on him. Benrey doesn’t say anything at first from where he’s crouched on the other side of Gordon’s bed, in a position not unlike a stone gargoyle, but the way his head tilts to the side is enough to tell Gordon he’s somewhat interested in what Gordon tripped himself up over.

“I don’t think I actually know how old you are,” Gordon explains, and under the dark shadow of Benrey’s helmet, his eyebrows knit closer together in an expression that mimics hurt.

“Oh, ow. Ouch. Ow, dude. Ooouch. I know how old you are.”

Gordon lifts a brow, “You do?”

“Yuh.”

“Then how old am I?” Gordon emphasizes his question with a cutting stare, and satisfaction rolls over him, smug and triumphant, when Benrey only stares back at him in a silence that lingers on a little too long. Gotcha. 

Benrey scratches at the bottom of his jawline, still pretending to hunt for an answer Gordon _knows_ he doesn’t have, so, in an act of mercy because Gordon’s just _that_ nice of a person, he changes the topic, “What the hell are you doing in my bed, Benrey?”

“Wha- ?” Benrey winces at Gordon’s tone, as if stung by his words, and in a tone so confused it sounds like he genuinely believes the next words to come out of his mouth, he retorts, “ _Our_ bed.” Now it’s Gordon’s turn to feel lost.

“What? N… no?” Gordon shuffles around on the bed, returning to his former position of lying down semi-propped up on his pillows, albeit still a little dangerously close to the edge of the bed so that he’s not anywhere near Benrey, then adds on, “I sleep here. Alone.” 

“No, that’s - that’s when the marriage issues really start,” Benrey says wisely, as if he even knows what he’s talking about. “We start sleeping in different beds and then suddenly you’re handing me divorce papers.”

_Benrey, you don’t need to school me on divorces, I know how they work from my own experience, dumbass_ , is what Gordon _wants_ to say, but he bites his tongue because he definitely doesn’t need to feed Benrey more fodder to make fun of him with. Plus, honestly, he’s a little too baffled by Benrey’s implications that they even got married to begin with to figure out how to say those words out loud.

“I - we’re not married?” 

Benrey’s yellow cat-like eyes widen as he gasps, hushed, “See? It’s already happening.” His eyes return to their usual hooded state as he drops the surprised look that accompanied his joke, but then they narrow into golden slits as he seems to notice something awfully intriguing. Gordon allows his gaze to follow Benrey’s observant stare and tracks it back to his chest which he is still clutching his phone to, as if he’s trying to hide something scandalous from his parents. Benrey seems to think the same thing, considering the accusatory stare he’s currently leveling Gordon with.

“Yo, you cheating on me? In our own bed?”

Gordon’s never felt more tired. “ _My_ bed.”

Benrey lunges forward from his former perch, arms outstretched as he makes a sudden pounce for Gordon’s phone. While Benrey might have the element of surprise on his side, after sixteen years of chasing after the world’s most disastrous cat (Chowder, you glorious idiot), six years of raising a son, and the events of Black Mesa, Gordon’s reflexes are nothing to laugh at. He juts out his knee immediately, recoiling from Benrey’s attempted swipe while also driving the top of his knee into the middle point of Benrey’s gut, and brings his left arm out to both brace himself further against Benrey’s barrage and also to shield his prosthetic hand as it clutches his phone like it’ll save his life. None of this deters Benrey, however, as he continues to squirm and dart out his hands to try and grab the phone that Gordon has now dedicated his time to defending with his life.

“Dude, c’mon, show me who you’re cheating on me with.”

Gordon grunts with effort as he grabs one of Benrey’s wrists to stop another attempt, but then Benrey keeps twisting out of his grip like a squirrely motherfucker and goes right back at it. Gordon finds his sentences broken as he has to juggle focusing on both yelling at Benrey while also fighting him off of his turf, “We’re not even - would you - cut it out! Stop! Dude, I’m texting Coomer!”

The reveal seems to satiate Benrey for the time being as he falls back on his knees, expression unreadable, before he blurts out, “You’re cheating on me with Coomer?”

“I… Yes.” Gordon’s too dazed by Benrey’s accusation to even realize what he’s, albeit jokingly, admitting to. Benrey’s eyes narrow to a venomous glare, “I want a divorce.”

“Alright,” says Gordon, slowly, as the absurdity of the gag dawns on him. He lifts his phone up from his chest and waves it, screen facing towards Benrey, in the air for a few seconds, a tantalizing offer. “I guess that means you don’t want to come to the pool tomorrow.” 

Benrey’s eyes light up with interest, and Gordon finds himself thinking _gotcha_ for the second time tonight. 

“Pool?” Benrey echoes, tone blunt and eyes wandering the room, feigning disinterest as if Gordon didn’t just see the way his squinted eyes had widened with intrigue just a split second ago. Gordon nods, shrugging his shoulders in a manner that’s as nonchalant as he can muster, and lays down the bait, “Yeah, our apartment complex has a pool area. But, like, if you don’t want to come, that’s no sweat off my ass - I mean, it’s not like _I’m_ the one who wanted to invite you. You’re lucky I like Tommy so much. But if you want to disappoint _Tommy_ , who am I to stop you?” 

“I didn’t - I didn’t say I didn’t want to go,” Benrey snaps, tone bordering on defensive. “I want to… come. I want to come. Yeah. Wanna go swimming.”

Gordon shoots Benrey a smug look, to which Benrey responds with a visible scowl. Gordon, because he’s such a merciful angel, decides to let Benrey off the hook for now, and instead gestures towards the work uniform Benrey is _still_ clad in. “Can you even wear a swimsuit? I’m not letting you track a water-logged security outfit into my fucking apartment again.” Part of Gordon is pretty sure that the uniform is attached to Benrey’s skin (now _that’s_ a terrifying train of thought). 

“Yeah, these come off. I can just, uh, go to that one place. What’s it called? The - uh - the store, you know. Wall Market.” Benrey snorts with disdain, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. Can he really blame Gordon for wondering that? The only times Gordon ever saw Benrey he was still wearing that stupid ass uniform. Ugh. Who knows where _that’s_ been.

“Wal-mart?” Gordon suggests after a moment, and Benrey nods in agreement, “Yeah. That place. I can go grab swim trunks from there.”

“You have money?” Gordon didn’t realize that his plan would go _this_ smoothly.

“I didn’t say I would _pay_ for swim trunks there.”

With that, Benrey pulls back from the conversation both figuratively and literally; he shifts his weight, twisting around as if he’s about to climb out of the bed he invaded, but as he slides his hands across the blanket with the movement, a sudden abrupt noise akin to a hiss slips from Benrey’s clenched teeth. Gordon finds himself more alert than he’d care for at that, eyeing Benrey with a skeptical stare before he notices the way Benrey’s fidgeting with one hand, as if he’s caught a nail on the fabric of Gordon’s blanket.

No, not as if. That’s actually, genuinely what just happened. Benrey got his nail stuck on the blanket and now he’s making a fuss trying to unhook it. Gordon bites back the laugh that’s crawling up the back of his throat, “You good, dude?” 

“Yeah, no, I’m good, just got - just got a little - I’m good, no - _what the fuck are you doing, bro_?” Benrey’s voice devolves into a wary hiss as Gordon leans over and closer towards Benrey’s caught hand, pressing his shoulder to Benrey’s as he reaches down to fumble for where Benrey’s nail is snagged. Gordon furrows his brows with focus as he huffs, “Relax, I know what I’m doing. Chowder used to do this all the time.”

“No, dude, seriously, get the fuck off. Bro, seriously, fuck off - bro, no, I - seriously, fuck off - _bro_ , I’m not -,” Benrey cuts his own sentence off, instead resorting to twisting his head around to face Gordon and _immediately_ let out a string of Sweet Voice orbs directly into Gordon’s face. Gordon sputters against the objects now bombarding his face - thankfully, this time, they’re back to the familiar gelatin texture, and not like the fucking _baseball_ one that left a bruise on Gordon’s forehead for five days. He musters through it, though his fumbling becomes even more blinded and disjointed as he splits his focus between the sudden tirade of orbs and the caught nail.

When Benrey realizes that the Sweet Voice isn’t deterring Gordon from his fingers, he resorts to something else even more frustrating; Gordon grunts with effort at the jarring sensation of Benrey bringing his free hand down on Gordon’s own face, once, twice, _repeatedly_. It turns into a battery of swats and (thankfully, sort of light) smacks to Gordon’s face as he struggles to unhook Benrey’s nail, despite the eldritch idiot’s cursing and thrashing. Finally, the thread gives way, and Benrey’s caught hand jerks free of its felt prison, and the flurry of spitting and swiping comes to an immediate end. Benrey tears himself away from the bed and rolls over the edge, landing onto the ground below with a low thump (Gordon wonders, briefly, if Bubby will complain about the racket tomorrow), before popping back up like a toy, dusting off his vest. He spins around on his heel and makes his way towards the open door of Gordon’s bedroom.

Gordon sits back on his knees, calling after Benrey, “You’re _welcome_!”

Keeping his back to Gordon the entire time, Benrey only responds with a _pffbbbbbbt_ and flips Gordon off, before he disappears around the corner of the doorway and out of sight. 

❋ ❀ ❁ ❋ ❀ ❁

“Alright, I’m ready to boogie.” Benrey’s monotone voice announces his presence coming down the hall to the group of men loitering around in Gordon’s apartment living room before he even arrives in Gordon’s point of view. Gordon twists around to peer over the back of the couch as Benrey arrives in the living room, adorned in a blue flower-printed pair of swim trunks, and Gordon realizes what an idiot he was for thinking he’d see Benrey without that _stupid_ helmet because there it is, still nestled snuggly on top of Benrey’s head, despite the lack of the rest of his security uniform.

“So it _does_ come off!” Gordon exclaims from where he is seated on the couch. Benrey stands in the opening of the hallway where it connects to the exceptionally tiny dining room and the only somewhat larger living room; he leans against the corner of the wall, one of his legs drifting out to stretch out to the side, like he’s preparing to pose. Oh, no.

“Yup,” Benrey says, popping the ‘p’ on yup, before he leans forward, one hand on his thigh and the other on his hip as he poses in a fashion that Gordon has, unfortunately, seen him do before. “You likin’ the view?” 

“Nope,” Gordon says, making sure to pop the ‘p’ at the end of it. 

Benrey huffs with disdain, straightening back up, apparently discouraged by Gordon’s denial, but the brief display of disappointment is gone in a flash as he continues on his route to the front door. Gordon brings his hand up into the air faster than he realizes, and, like they’re on cue, Tommy and Bubby leave their previous positions of standing on either side of the recliner chair Coomer was sitting in (like little guard dogs) and stand rigidly in front of the front door, blocking Benrey from leaving further. Benrey comes to a slow halt in front of the human roadblock, and though Benrey’s back is turned to him, Gordon can practically imagine the puzzled scowl crossing Benrey’s expression.

“I can noclip through walls, not human bodies,” Benrey huffs. “Move, please.” 

Tommy rings his hands together, an apologetic smile worming its way onto his countenance as he says, “We’re sorry, Benrey, about this.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bubby snorts from where he stands next to Tommy, “this has been a long time coming. _I_ saw him rummaging through the complex’s dumpster the other day.”

“Oh, was it when you were taking out the trash?” Tommy turns his attention to Bubby, but Bubby only scoffs back at him.

“No, someone threw out their headboard for their bed, and I wanted it before Benrey could get his parasites all over it.”

“It was a very romantic gesture when you brought it up to our floor, Professor Bubby!” Coomer chirps, all too bright, from where he is now standing in front of the recliner rather than sitting down. Gordon’s also standing now.

“ _Doctor_ ,” Bubby corrects, seething.

Before the argument between the old timers can go on any further, Gordon clears his throat, watching as Benrey shuffles around to stare at him, both confused and, somewhat, alarmed. Gordon gestures with his hand for Benrey to follow him and instructs, “Come here.”

“You’re not my boss,” Benrey taunts back. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Gordon _tries_ not to feel smug when Benrey visibly startles by Coomer’s hands suddenly clasping on his shoulders. Keyword: tries. Hopefully it doesn’t show on his face. 

“Now, Benrey,” Coomer supplies in that light tone of his, “Gordon’s gone through a lot of trouble setting this up. Let’s see what he has in store for you!” It’s phrased like Benrey has a choice, but that’s obviously not true by the way Coomer, at about thirty percent of his full strength, begins to guide Benrey by his shoulders towards Gordon. Gordon only responds with a thankful nod to Coomer, before he turns and leads the pair down the hallway, then ducks to his right into the bathroom. Coomer “guides” Benrey down the same path.

In the bathroom, a towel is laid down on the sink, folded into a neat white square, with a toothbrush and a set of nail clippers by its side on the sink; three more towels are situated on the floor, pressed to the bathtub and covering the tile, as well as a floor bath mat. The bathtub itself is filled up with soapy water, a hefty amount of foamy bubbles floating on the top of the water. There’s even a little yellow rubber ducky, which Gordon so kindly set in the water for Benrey to maim and maul it as he pleased. Along the rim of the pristine bathtub stand four bottles of various soaps: shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and even special flea shampoo, _just in case_ . Again, Gordon has _no_ idea where Benrey’s been.

Benrey stands in the dead center of the bathroom, looking absolutely lost and baffled, while Gordon stands by the bathtub, facing his guests.

“Listen, Benrey,” Gordon starts. “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me -”

“You don’t like me?” Benrey interrupts.

“I don’t like you.”

“I like you.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Gordon will not be distracted this easily. “My son likes you, though, unfortunately. And while I’m… _okay_ to let you around him _if I’m there_ , I don’t want you spreading whatever you’re catching from outside to him. You,” - Gordon stops mid-sentence to thrust his index finger in the bathtub’s direction for emphasis - “need to take a bath.” 

“What?” Benrey’s eyes dart from the bathtub to the open door of the bathroom, then back to the bathtub, then back to the door again. Coomer stands directly in his pathway to freedom, much to Benrey’s displeasure.

“We gotta trim those nails, too, before you end up scratching him. Or, well, me, too, but I don’t think you’d care if you scratched me,” Gordon says, his eyes trailing over to where the nail clippers currently lay by the towel. _That’s_ going to be an ordeal.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Exactly.”

The next thing, Gordon gives Coomer yet another nod, a silent signal, and Coomer’s hauling Benrey (who actually _shrieks_ ) up into the air and bringing him towards the bathtub. He dunks Benrey down into the water a little rougher than Gordon would’ve liked, considering it sends soapy water and bubbles cascading over the rim of bathtub; at least the towels on the floor are there, even if they’re doing a pisspoor job of soaking up the excess water. Benrey’s hands grasp frantically at the now wet rim of the bathtub as he tries to haul himself out of the tub, but Gordon’s on him in an instant, his hands gripping Benrey’s shoulders as he forces Benrey back down into the water, shouting all the while, “ _No!_ You _need_ to take a bath!”

“I stand in the rain!”

“That’s not a fucking _shower_ , Benrey!”

Benrey flails again, sending more water splattering across Gordon and the floor. This is exactly why he told the rest of the science team to have their swimwear on for this.

Gordon’s hands make their way to the bottom of Benrey’s helmet and tug, but there’s no leeway or give, and Gordon’s honestly not sure if that’s because of Benrey’s thrashing or if the helmet is just _that_ securely glued to his head. He tugs again, and this time Benrey’s hands wrap themselves around Gordon’s wrists and yank backwards, a hiss sliding from between his uncomfortably sharp teeth.

“Bro, this waterboarding! You’re torturing me. You’re a fucking war criminal!” 

“We’re not - does this fucking helmet come off at all?” Gordon’s exasperated snap shifts from Benrey’s dramatics to the frustration over the helmet not even budging, no matter how hard he tries (Benrey tearing his hands back also doesn’t help). What’s concerning is the way Benrey stares back at Gordon, bewildered, as an answer.

“Security helmets come off?”

“Wha - what?”

“They can take their helmets off?”

“What the fuck are you talking - who’s _they_? _Security guards_?” Gordon’s slack-jawed expression must be comical even from Benrey’s perspective; he really shouldn’t be surprised by the weird, perplexing revelations Benrey sometimes reveals about himself, but _every time_ he does it’s always something that catches Gordon by the ankles and knocks him on his ass. Benrey seems tired of the conversation already, though, because instead of actually answering, he grins slyly and jeers, “The helmet stays on during sex.”

Okay, so _maybe_ dunking Benrey’s head under the water was mean, or an overreaction on Gordon’s part, but it’s not like he leaves Benrey’s head under water for _long_. Just a quick second-long dunk under the water. Gordon’s earned that small victory. Benrey pops back up a second later, sputtering and spitting.

“Fine, alright, fuck! I’ll take your stupid fucking baby bitch boy bath!” 

Yet another victory for one Gordon Freeman.

“ _Thank_ you,” says Gordon as he gets back to his feet, wincing at the way his knees crackle as he stands. How old _is_ he? “Can I trust you to bathe yourself, then?”

Benrey rests his chin against the cool surface of the tub rim as he delivers, deadpan, “Aw, you’re not gonna scrub me down?”

“Okay, bye.” The bathroom door slams after Gordon makes his final exit, Coomer by his side.

It’s an hour later when Benrey finally makes his way out of Gordon’s bathroom, clear of the grime and muck that previously marred his skin (and security outfit - as soon as Gordon figures out where Benrey hid that thing it’s going straight into the wash. Or Gordon’s lighting it on fire. One of the two). He stands in the opening of the hallway, sulking, and absolutely glowers at Gordon. Testing the ‘if looks could kill’ theory, Benrey was trying to bludgeon Gordon to a pulp with his stare. Gordon was perfectly unfazed.

“There, isn’t that much better?”

Benrey only scowls at him instead of answering.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

Benrey scowls more, if that was even possible, “ _Yes_.” 

“Did you clip your nails?”

Benrey doesn’t respond again, but the way his scowl drops and he focuses on the wall instead tells Gordon everything he needs to know. With a burdened sigh, Gordon gets to his feet once more from the couch, and the next ordeal begins.

If getting Benrey to take a fucking _bath_ was like pulling teeth, then clipping his nails was like snapping all of your bones one by one. Benrey made it absolutely _impossible_ , constantly flailing and kicking and hissing, while Coomer, for some reason beyond Gordon’s wide range of knowledge, decided that he was done helping for the day and took to standing beside Bubby and Tommy, watching the fiasco unfold before them. The group would cheer or shout something from time to time as Gordon literally wrestled with another grown man (well, alien, whatever the fuck Benrey was) to clip his _nails_.

Another hour later, and they are finally free. Gordon thumbs his fingers across the angry red welts lining his face while Benrey, pouting, sulks by the front door, arms crossed over his bare chest and eyes hidden below the brim of his helmet as he stares down at the floor. 

“Is chlorine good for cat scratches?” Gordon mumbles, dry as a desert, as Bubby impatiently hurries the group towards the front door where Benrey is simmering.

“Oh, yes, cleans infections right away,” Bubby says, and no matter how confident he sounds, Gordon isn’t sure if he believes him. “Come on, Gordon, pick up the pace! I can’t get that tan sitting around in your weak little apartment.”

“ _Weak_?” Gordon echoes, and gets no explanation. Benrey cackles beside him, now on his feet and seemingly recovered from the bath and nails incident. His neighbors visiting the pool don’t even know the storm that’s coming their way right now. 

❋ ❀ ❁ ❋ ❀ ❁

A clap of thunder booms from outside and sends Joshua jumping into his father’s arms. Gordon gives him a reassuring squeeze, musing, “That storm came up fast, huh?”

It’s funny. Only yesterday was Gordon lounging in the hot ass New Mexico sunlight by the side of the complex’s pool, up until Benrey hauled him up and practically _body-slammed_ him into the water, flip-flops on and all. Gordon’s still fuming about that, and the soggy sandals he had to walk home in after the pool will be a feeling he never forgets, or forgives. Today, however, dark gray clouds, swollen with oncoming rain, meandered across the sky, slowly but surely making their way towards Gordon’s own apartment complex.

“It’s raining?” Joshua asks, tugging on Gordon’s shirt and gesturing towards the sliding glass door. The blinds are drawn back for once, and though there’s no water running down in rivulets down the glass, the pitch dark clouds and the thunder drawing nearer is not exactly a sign in favor of sunny weather. 

“Not yet, but almost, Joshie,” Gordon answers after a moment, finding himself briefly enraptured by the outside scenery. Poor Sunkist must be going nuts without her afternoon walk. 

“Benny’s not here,” Joshua observes with a sullen tone, and Gordon knows _exactly_ where his son is going with this already. Why did the universe want to punish him like this? 

“Maybe he’s with Grandpa Bubby and Grandpa Coomer?” Gordon suggests with a reassuring smile, running his hand down Joshua’s hair across the back of his head. Bubby had nearly beaten Gordon to death the first time he jokingly called him ‘grandpa’ to Joshua, but that does not nor will it ever stop Gordon from calling him that, anyways. Joshua seems to get a kick out of it. 

“No, he’s not.” Damn. Joshua was as stubborn as his parents.

“Uncle Tommy?”

“No! He’s not!”

A sigh pulls from the pit of Gordon’s chest - he always caved easily when it came to Joshua’s demands. “Do you want me to go get him? You want Benny here?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” Joshua amends, and Gordon gives him a ruffle and a vague noise of praise before he’s up on his feet and moving towards the kitchen. How is he even supposed to go about bringing Benrey here? Texting him? Benrey doesn’t have a phone. A summoning ritual?

Before Gordon even realizes what he’s doing, he’s grabbing an unopened bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos (yes, Benrey showed up one day in his house with it and just left it there), and - oh. So that’s what his plan is? Well. Might as well roll with it. 

He strolls over to the sliding glass door, Joshua watching him with wide almond brown eyes, and slides it open after unlocking it, stepping out into the humid heat of the oncoming downpour that’ll be arriving in, what, minutes? Another clap of thunder.

Gordon cups his hand over his mouth and, with the other one, begins vigorously shaking the bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos as he calls out, “Benrey! Here, Benrey. Benrey! Benrey! Pspspsps! C’mere, Benrey!”

He stands like that, calling out to Benrey on his balcony like he’s eight years old again and calling Chowder, the neighborhood stray, back to his house (after one particularly bad storm, Gordon’s mom sat him down and asked if he wanted to keep Chowder in the house always. He enthusiastically said yes, and that’s how Chowder became the beloved pet of Gordon’s home, and not just some poor thing struggling on the side of the street). He barely registers the sound of steps up the apartment complex’s stairs while he’s calling, and he nearly jumps when he hears a friendly, “Oh, hey!”

One of his neighbors is currently climbing up the stairs; she beams up at him with an amicable grin, jovially trying to strike a conversation. “When did you get a cat?”

Gordon _does_ register the sound of rustling to his left side as Benrey (speak of the beast) scrambles up the base of the tree that stands just to the side of the apartment complex. Gordon has no time to even give this poor woman a sensible answer before Benrey reaches the branch near the balcony. He crouches for a second, muscles bunching underneath the new clothes Gordon loaned him after he _still_ couldn’t find that fucking security uniform (but at least he has that stupid helmet on), and literally leaps from the branch towards Gordon’s balcony. Benrey grunts with effort as his hands clasp the solid railing of the balcony porch, and then he swings for a few moments, finally hooking his leg over and around the barrier. He hauls himself up and over the concrete with another grunt, before landing unceremoniously onto the floor of the balcony porch with a gruff ‘oof!’.

He gets to his feet without another word, snatching the bag of chips from Gordon’s hand and giving it a quick once over. Finally, he rumbles, “You open these?”

Gordon mouths the word ‘no’ to him, voice suddenly lost to nothing, but Benrey takes that answer well and with a grin. “Niiice.”

And like that, Benrey brushes past Gordon and through the open doorway into the apartment. Gordon does not turn around to face his neighbor, cannot bring himself to meet her look of horrified confusion, and instead follows after Benrey wordlessly, shutting and locking the door behind him. 

Benrey’s already on the couch, Joshua clambering over him, giggling with delight as Benrey tears open the bag of chips. Oh, no. Gordon’s really doing this. He’s really about to ask this.

“Benrey,” he starts, and knows he’s going to regret this as soon as Benrey turns his yellow eyes to Gordon, “do you want to stay?”

“Uh, I’m already staying? You forget that I’m right here, dude? You that old, bro? You losing your memory already?” Benrey snickers, before nudging Joshua’s shoulder with his hand. “You gonna have to put your dad in an old people home already, Joshie?” 

Gordon chooses to ignore that. “No, I mean, like - I mean stay here like - I can’t… keep having you climb up the apartment building like a burglar. My neighbors are gonna freak.”

He takes another pause, another breath, pinches his eyes shut, and finally asks, “Benrey, do you want to move in with us?”

The reaction is immediate. Joshua positively _screams_ with joy at the offer, his giddy squeal almost overshadowing the sound of Benrey choking on his mouthful of chips. Benrey pounds his fist against his chest a few seconds, hissing as the (not that) spicy powder goes straight down his windpipe, while Joshua continues yelling absolute gibberish with glee. Finally, Benrey cries out in a weak, sputtering voice, “Yeah, dude, of course I’ll marry you!”

Gordon thinks for a brief second that he should’ve taken his mother’s advice, but at least this stray makes his son happy, and now he finally understands what his mother must’ve felt all those years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no real notes here yet hehe! just wanna say i appreciate everyone who reads this so much and thank u so much for the comments and kudos TTOTT <3!!!!!  
> i rarely log on here (except to like. post stuff obviously) so if youd like to contact me, feel free to contact me via my [tumblr](https://kiittenteeth.tumblr.com) or my [twitter](https://twitter.com/sorrelstream) :]

**Author's Note:**

> isn't it funny how the last fic i made for a fandom (besides warrior cats) was a 5 + 1 things sam & max fic back in 2017? now im back again with yet another 5 + 1 things fic. guess i just like that trope
> 
> anyways! i read all the comments on my fics and i love EVERY single one of them <3!! if youve commented before thank you so much ive absolutely read your comment over 100 times! they mean a lot to me. hope yall enjoy this one too :]


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